


The Permanence of Dawn

by within_a_dream



Series: Revelations [2]
Category: Benjamin January Mysteries - Barbara Hambly
Genre: Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-12
Updated: 2016-01-12
Packaged: 2018-05-13 08:16:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5701426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/within_a_dream/pseuds/within_a_dream
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the world's end, life goes on</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Permanence of Dawn

**Author's Note:**

> This fic focuses a bit more on the zombie-apocalypse setting than the last fic, and is darker in that respect. There's also minor/offscreen character death and levels of violence typical for a zombie story.

The best places to look for supplies were the manors which the rich had abandoned. Dominique would prefer to stay away, but the alternative was starvation. So whenever they began to run short of food or medications or clothing, Minou and Henri armed themselves and began the journey across town.

This expedition brought them to the outskirts of the city, far from the house where they’d made themselves a home. It was difficult work even getting there, for Henri especially—he really was a gentle soul, and the violence necessary to survive was hard for him to bear. Truthfully, she hadn’t expected him to stay by her side after news of the disease spread; his family was wealthy enough to afford the exit fee. But stay he had, and they’d managed to survive. Henri had taught her how to start a fire, she’d taught him to sew, and they’d learned to fight along the way.

With any luck, the house would be empty. She knew there was nothing left inside the corpses that had risen, but she still felt ill after running them through. Besides that, Henri had a nasty tendency to swoon at the more grisly deaths, and Minou would need his help to carry their supplies.

It did seem empty at first. They crept in through the kitchen, meticulously organized and spotless save the thick layer of dust over everything. The damp had gotten to most of the supplies in the pantry, but there were a few salvageable cans. Minou was slipping a tin of pickled beets into her sack when a loud thump nearly startled her into dropping it.

“What did you do?”

“I didn’t!” Henri looked at her, perplexed, and she felt horrid for snapping at him.

A gunshot rang out through the house, cutting through the racket. Minou set her bag down and began to dash for the source. The dead couldn’t shoot.

She found them on the upper floor, a corpse acting as doorstop for the bedroom they were hiding in. A boy and a girl, a few years older than Minou, most likely half-siblings (the girl’s skin glowed so white even under the grime that she could never be mistaken for a woman of color). The girl aimed the gun at Minou, hands barely shaking. “What are you doing here?”

“We were looking for supplies; to be truthful, I hadn’t expected to find any survivors.” Minou smiled at them; she’d stared down the barrel of a gun enough times to know a killer, and this girl wasn’t one. “Did you live here, before?”

“It was our uncle’s house.” The boy nudged his sister, persuading her to lower the gun. “He’s not here any longer, but we’ve had enough food and water to make it by.”

“You won’t have enough for much longer.” Minou’s words drew a harsh glare from the girl, and she threw up her hands in surrender. “We won’t rob you, of course, but you’re going to run out. My friend and I have made our home on Rue Dauphin, if you’d care to join us.”

The boy looked excited at the prospect, the girl suspicious. “Your friend?”

“Monsieur Henri Viellard. He’s a very dear friend of mine, and we’ve come this far together.”

She tucked the gun into her waistband. “Ah, I believe we’ve met. Monsieur Viellard and I, I mean.”

It had been at a ball, Henri informed her; or several balls, really. Their families had been gently pushing them together.

“In another world,” Henri said, laughing, “we might have been married.”

Artois chattered for most of the walk home, although he had the good sense to stay quiet through the more infested parts of town. He’d lived with his uncle, Minou learned; the uncle had planned to hire a tutor before all hell broke loose. Chloë had come for a visit at a very inopportune time, and they’d found themselves thrown together, and their uncle dead. The death had been ugly, and he’d come back (this Artois hadn’t said, but Minou could guess).

Chloë kept one hand on her gun, eyes darting down every alley. Her shoulders grew slightly less tense once they reached the house, but she didn’t relax, even after she’d slipped into her shift and curled up on the sofa in their parlor. Minou sat down beside her.

“I’m so happy you joined us. You’re quite the shot, it seems; Henri is hopeless with a gun, and I’d like to improve my aim.”

“It’s not so difficult,” Chloë said. “I would never have thought a year ago that I’d have learned to shoot someone in the head, but you do what you have to.” She pulled up her sleeve to wipe tears away. “Oh, you must think me so foolish, crying over shooting dead men.”

Minou took her hand. “The night the dead rose, I took my best gown with me when I ran. A week later, Henri and I had found a house to hide in, and I thought I’d put it on in celebration of our safety. As it turned out, we’d neglected to check the pantry, and I spilled a child’s guts down the front of my skirt. I cried for hours—I’d meant to keep it for when the world was set right, and now it was ruined along with everything else. And then I cried for the fact that the dress had driven me to tears before the dead girl in front of me. Only a week, and my heart had grown so hard. There’s no wrong thing to cry about, p’tit.”

“He used to write to me in Latin. My parents had sent me off to school, but my classmates were horrid and we moved so slowly. So I wrote Uncle Veryl, and he wrote back. And then I shot him after he tried to tear us apart. How are we supposed to live like this?”

“We do what we have to. And the sun still rises in the morning, and the birds still sing, and I think the streets might be more peaceful now than they were before.”

Chloë laughed at that. “I’m happy you found us. I was beginning to worry that Artois and I would find ourselves in trouble. The house was falling apart before the dead rose, and I don’t know how long it would have held out.”

“We’ll be better together,” Minou said. “Two people is too few to live properly; Henri’s heard all my stories at least three times over, and he’s horrid at faking laughter. You could teach me a bit of Latin!”

She giggled. “I’m not much of a teacher, but I can certainly try. Did you hem your dress yourself?”

Minou pulled up the seams and showed Chloë how she’d taken in the train to reinforce the skirt and add pockets and Chloë began to ask questions about tailoring that led to questions about language and science and nature, and soon it was dawn and they’d hardly slept for talking.

 

Henri and Artois seemed to have enjoyed each other’s company. Artois was cheerfully talking Henri’s ear off at breakfast that morning, and Henri seemed a bit befuddled but otherwise content.

“I hope you slept well, dear,” he said, smiling at Minou. “Our young friend has been telling me all sorts of fascinating facts about chemistry. Did you know that with the correct distribution, one can make a barrel of flour into a bomb?”

“That’s fascinating!” Minou said.

“I’d think we’d be better off using the flour as food,” said Chloë.

Artois bounced a bit in his seat. “But imagine the explosion!”

“I suppose it doesn’t much matter, as we’re not likely to find any flour to begin with.” Henri glanced at Minou, who was trying to stifle her laughter. “What did I say?”

“It’s not you, darling. I was only thinking about how long it’s been since we’ve had a conversation.” She turned to their guests. “It’s been lovely to meet you, and I think I speak for Henri as well when I say that you’re welcome to stay with us permanently.”

Chloë gave a small nod, and the slight hint of a smile on her face meant more to Minou than a grin from anyone else. “That’s very kind of you.”

“You’ll be much more of an asset than a burden; I’ve seen you shoot, don’t forget.”

“I shall have to do my best to prove my worth, then.”

Her world had seemed desolate since the dead began to walk, but now, Dominique began to see some sense of purpose. She had Henri, and he had her, and they both had their new charges, and perhaps life wasn’t so hopeless after all.


End file.
